Marten stubbornly shook his head.
Kang regarded the anxious shock troopers. “Think about that. The HBs are almost here and we’ve captured an important part of the ship. But once the HBs learn what Marten tried to do they’ll kill him for sure. And they’ll kill anybody who helped him.”
“This isn’t the time to lose your nerve,” Marten said.
“That’s right,” Kang said. “It’s time to make sure we keep the Highborn happy. Conway, Higgens, grab him!”
The shock troopers regarded Marten, who stepped back and lifted his arm with the attached laser-tube, although he didn’t directly aim it at anyone. “You can’t possibly know that the HBs are coming.”
The words worked like magic, but not in the way Marten wanted. Conway and Higgens suddenly lunged for him, trying to grab his arms. Marten jumped back and aimed the laser-tube at the nearest, Conway. “You’d better rethink that,” he said, already angry with himself for having stepped back the first time. He should have tried to bluff, but he hadn’t trusted Kang so near to him.
Lance, who had stepped to the side, now came up behind Marten and yanked back the arm. “We gotta put to this to a vote, Marten.”
“Let go!” shouted Marten.
Servomotors whined as their exoskeleton powered battlesuits wrestled.
“This isn’t personal!” shouted Lance. “I just don’t want to fry in some HB horror chamber.”
Marten noticed Conway and Higgens creeping closer. So he relaxed, letting Lance jerk back his arm. “Listen to me,” he said, with all the earnestness he could muster. He even twisted his head to peer at Lance, who frowned and then nodded, relaxing his hold. Marten shifted sharply, throwing Lance off balance. He then grabbed Lance by the shoulders and shoved him into Conway and Higgens. With a metallic CLANG, the three fell into a mechanical heap.
Kang clanked forward with an override unit—each of the top three mission officers had been given one. He tried to slap the unit onto Marten’s suit. Marten jumped backward, slamming into a lift, crumpling the thin metal door.
“What are you gonna do to him?” Vip said, an edge to his voice.
“I’m going to let the HBs deal with him,” Kang said, hopping forward, the override unit almost touching Marten.
Marten got an armored foot on Kang’s chest-plate, and he kicked, hurling Kang’s half-ton battlesuit against the nearest wall. Then Marten righted himself as Lance, Conway and Higgens also rose to their feet.
“Are you siding with Kang?” shouted Marten.
“I don’t want the HBs killing me,” said Lance. “So you gotta forget this Jupiter nonsense.”
Marten glanced at the others. They peered at Kang, who roared curses as he aimed his heavy laser.
Marten ducked, turned and leaped deeper into the huge engine room.
“Traitorous scum!” roared Kang, a red laser beam lashing out after Marten.
Then Vip said, “If you fire again I’ll kill you.” He aimed his laser at Kang.
Marten glided behind another lift, shifted around and then entered it. Over the comlink, he heard Kang and Vip argue.
KANG: You’re helping the traitor!
VIP: That’s what you call him.
KANG: That’s what I’ll tell the HBs.
VIP: So I’d better burn you where you stand, that’s what you’re telling me.
KANG: Why are you aiming a laser at me if you’re not helping him?
VIP: Who’s aiming anything at you?
KANG: Now he’s gone, you idiot.
VIP: Where’s he gonna run to, Kang? Think about it.
KANG: To the enemy, you dolt.
VIP: I don’t think so. Besides, Marten got us here. I sure don’t wanna see him butchered by you because he helped you survive. You want to hunt for him later that’s your problem. Right now, we gotta secure the Bangladesh.
KANG: (grunted angrily)
Marten’s lift opened two levels down and he moved down a different corridor. He’d made his move and lost. Now he had only one option left. Get aboard an escape pod and leave before the HBs arrived.
21.
Admiral Rica Sioux slipped a tight wrap around her bad knee. She’d already had the medic shoot it with anti-pain. The Tracking Officer meanwhile brought body armor and a las-rifle and laid it beside the command chair.
“Admiral!” said the First Gunner. “This is madness. We must all make a run for the escape pods.”
Admiral Sioux ignored him. At her age, she had learned when not to argue. He spoke for the files, nothing more. Around her, the command team watched the VR-screens in dismay. The HB-trained soldiers were uncanny. The larger group smashed straight here. The smaller group had six active members, hitting and running wherever they weren’t expected.
An armrest button flashed.
“Security Chief, here. It’s no good, Admiral. Now they’re slaughtering my Security teams one by one. If only I could have used everybody together. I could have beaten them. It was a mistake to chase the smaller group.”
“I’ll be down to join you for the final assault,” said Admiral Sioux.
“Admiral, I must protest.”
“Noted. Now no more arguments, please. My mind is made up.”
“Aye-aye, Admiral. But you’d better hurry if you want to fight with us.”
Admiral Sioux motioned the Tracking Officer to help her put on the armor. As she did, the Admiral said, “You and the others will head to the escape pods, just like the First Gunner suggests.”
“We want to fight with you,” the Tracking Officer said.
“Senseless. Live to fight another day.”
“Then you’re not blowing the Bangladesh?” whispered the Tracking Officer.
Admiral Sioux knew that several officers watched her closely as they fingered their weapons. She had no doubt they would kill her if they suspected she would use the destruction code. The enemy’s swift success had broken their last scruples—or so Admiral Sioux suspected. The destruction procedure was complicated, so she couldn’t hide it from them.
The last buckles of the body-armor snapped closed. She put on her helmet and slid open the visor. Settling back into the command chair, she put a call through to General Hawthorne on Earth. Those in the command capsule continued to watch.
“General Hawthorne,” she said, “enemy soldiers called shock troops have breached the Bangladesh. We’re fighting desperately. I am about to go down and join the Security Chief. Here are the specs of the enemy battle tactics.” She pressed transmit, sending other files as well. Then she rose from her chair and scanned her command team.
“I am proud to have served with you. I wish you luck getting through to the escape pods.”
“Join us, Admiral,” said the First Gunner.
“I am old.” Admiral Sioux hefted her las-rifle. “But not too old to aim and fire.”
She limped to the sealed door, voice-activated the lock and watched it slide open. Deep from in the Bangladesh came the screech of combat. “Is anyone joining me?”
None of her officers dared look her in the eye.
She nodded and limped into the dark corridor of her beamship.
22.
Earth—New Baghdad
General Hawthorne cleared his throat, nodded to the holo-director that signaled him and peered into the camera. He sat at a desk, with small SU flags on either side of him. Behind him was a space map of the four Inner Planets and with the Social Unity Logo of four hands one atop the other interposed as background. His military hat was cocked at the angle he felt portrayed confidence and a dash of genius. His bony fingers were folded atop the desk.
A recorded voice spoke: “Citizens of the Four Planets, of Mars, Earth, Venus and Mercury, I give you Social Unity’s Supreme Commander, General James Hawthorne.” Martial music played. As the music winded down:
Hawthorne nodded at the camera as he saw the red recording light blink. “Good evening, dear citizens. It is with a heavy heart that I come to you tonight. Let me has
tily add that not with a heart bowed with defeat or despair. Rather, I wish to… undo or unsay some of the words spoken to you earlier this year. This has been a year of great tragedy, as I know that you are all aware. The Highborn have brutally invaded the Four Planets and slain many that otherwise would have lived long and useful lives. The words that must be unsaid are those in the past year spoken in haste and fear. Namely, that this is a short war.
“In their love for the people of the Four Planets the former Directors believed the truth should remain hidden. They felt it was better to forge the tools to defeat the enemy and let you go on with your lives in peace. But the Highborn are not easily beaten. They are vicious soldiers, merciless and savage, and let me add, brilliant soldiers who plot well-laid plans. The Directors of many years gone designed the Highborn to be such soldiers. Alas, treachery infected the Highborn and they turned on us all.
“As Supreme Commander I have led the fight against the Highborn. I have witnessed both defeat and victory against our wily foe. I saw what many of you haven’t. That despite our various defeats victory is inevitable. But victory will not come cheaply or quickly. Knowing this, my heart was still troubled because I saw that many of the Directors lacked faith in you, the people of Social Unity. So I came to New Baghdad to speak with Madam Director Blanche-Aster. Ah, her nobility encouraged me to speak plainly with her, even as I saw that the many burdens had worn her down to less than her former greatness. She agreed with me and suggested that in this dark hour that I take the reins of authority and guide the Four Planets.
“I refused. I am a fighting man, not a politician. But she argued that now is the not the time for politics but for rolling up our sleeves, picking up our guns and fighting. ‘Guide us,’ she pleaded. ‘Help me show the other Directors that we must go to the people and tell them the bitter truth.’ I finally agreed, with the proviso that she would remain by my side to help me. She reluctantly agreed, as age has stolen so much of her vigor. Yet I am grateful for her help she can give.
“This is why I have come to you tonight, my dear citizens. As Supreme Commander, I beg for your help and your understanding. In the coming days we will continue to take heavy losses. The Highborn are too powerful for it to be otherwise and they have infected their treachery into too many who should have known better. Yet Social Unity is stronger than mere fighting prowess and without a doubt stronger than base treachery. Our great hearts beat too purely for it to be otherwise. Millions of you will enlist in the armies that push the invaders from Earth. Others will join Space Defense and search and destroy the Doom Stars in our new and improved battle and beamships, while many millions will work overtime in order to build the weapons we need to defeat the so-called Supremacists.
“Citizens of the Four Planets, not all my news is gloomy or about the hardships to come. The Highborn are mighty but they are not invincible. As Supreme Commander, I ordered a space attack on the Sun Works Factory around Mercury. The Ring-factory has become Highborn Central, their processing plant and manufacturing yard. We hit it savagely with our latest beamship, the Bangladesh, a breakthrough design that has challenged all the old ways of space war.
“Many of you have been heard to ask: ‘Where are our space fleets?’ I shall tell you where: Hitting the enemy! Striking him ruthlessly and making him quake with fear! We will go on hitting him until he is defeated. We shall never surrender. Not as long as your hearts are true and as you realize that together, in our united unity, that we shall overcome.
“Thank you, my dear citizens, my fellow cardholders, good night, and may the creative force of our wills continue to shine.”
General Hawthorne peered straight at the camera until the holo-director said, “Cut. That was excellent, General. A fine speech.”
Hawthorne nodded as he rose and strode to the door. Yezhov congratulated him, shaking hands. “Wonderful, General. A splendid speech. The masses will be hardened in their resolve and flood into the recruiting stations.”
Hawthorne nodded, and he shook more hands as he heard more effusive praise. The Chief of PHC worked for him now, although Hawthorne would never trust Yezhov until the man was incinerated and his ashes thrown down a deep-core mine. Bionic Captain Mune stood behind the secret police chief, ready to kill him at the first hint of betrayal.
“I was hoping you could check my latest list,” said Yezhov, edging forward.
“Assassination teams that are to be slipped onto the orbital farm habs?” asked Hawthorne.
Yezhov winced and glanced around. “Please, General, this is a sensitive project. Its success hinges on the fact that it remains secret.”
Only those screened by Hawthorne’s MI teams were allowed in his presence, and his bionic men watched those closely. A glance around showed him seven bulky bionic men. They held gyroc rifles and continually scanned the crowd, making them nervous. Good! Let them all quiver at the thought of treachery.
He and Yezhov had made a deal Slippery Yezhov, the sly and cunning chief of Political Harmony Corps. During his coup attempt, Hawthorne hadn’t the strength to take PHC in a straight shooting match. So he’d made the deal and now worked to chip at their power, just as they tried to chip at his. All the directors had been replaced except for Blanche-Aster for him and Gannel for Yezhov. The others were non-entities. So in a sense the tripod of power in Social Unity had become two: the Military and the Secret Police.
Wait until the Cyborgs arrive was Hawthorne’s policy. He wasn’t sure what Yezhov’s plan was. These assassination teams were part of it, maybe the core. Yet the secret police chief’s plan was ingenious and bold. The assassination teams would infiltrate Highborn areas and kill them. Just like PHC had infiltrated the Joho Command Center and almost kidnapped him. He needed to keep reminding himself how close PHC had come to victory.
A door opened and Madam Blanche-Aster wheeled in on her bulky medical unit. Behind her followed the guard-clone, unarmed these days. Neither the clone nor the director looked happy. Hawthorne excused himself and greeted the Madam Director. He inclined his head, even as he heard Captain Mune clump behind him.
“A fine speech, General,” said Blanche-Aster, only a touch of sarcasm in her voice.
“Thank you, Madam Director.”
“I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
“Can’t it wait?” asked Hawthorne. “I need to meet with the new directors and—”
“It’s about the Bangladesh,” she said.
His eyes narrowed. “Yes?”
“It’s been captured.”
“What?”
People turned and stared.
Hawthorne noticed. He lowered his voice and said, “Come with me.”
23.
Hawthorne clicked off Admiral Sioux’s recorded message and with his bony fingers, he massaged the side of his head.
“It doesn’t appear as if the Highborn themselves stormed aboard,” said Blanche-Aster. She scanned a readout-slate hooked to her chair. “Normal men did this. Which is amazing. According to the Admiral’s report, seventy to eighty space marines captured the Bangladesh. Actually, amazing is probably the wrong word. Treachery is more like it. How can seventy to eighty space marines capture a beamship the size of the Bangladesh?”
Hawthorne sat behind his desk, shaking his head and with his shoulders hunched. Captain Mune stood at attention behind him. The Director’s guard-clone kept her gloved hands on the handles of Blanche-Aster’s medical unit.
“The Admiral called these space marines shock troopers,” said Hawthorne.
“Does that mean anything?”
“It must signify something. Perhaps shock troopers are like our good Captain Mune.”
Blanche-Aster wouldn’t look at the hulking bionic soldier. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think seventy Captain Mune’s could capture the Bangladesh.”
“I strongly disagree,” said Hawthorne.
“I imply no disdain upon these mechanically enhanced warriors of yours, General. But to me treachery seems like the more proba
ble answer.”
“Seventy bionic soldiers could capture the Bangladesh—quite handily in fact,” said Hawthorne. “But I’m not saying that the Highborn have modified people in such a fashion. Their psychology dictates against it.” Hawthorne pursed his lips. “Shock trooper is an interesting term. The same philosopher, Nietzsche, influenced both the ancient Nazis and the Highborn. He espoused the doctrines of the superman and the will to power. Perhaps the Highborn have combed the FEC ranks for superior soldiers and trained them in space marine tactics.”
“That’s all very interesting,” said Blanche-Aster. “But normal men can’t accelerate at twenty-five Gs.”
“You’re missing the point, Director. Why are the Highborn training regular men to fight in space? Have they run low of Highborn personnel?”
“I would think so,” said Blanche-Aster. “And if so, then Yezhov’s plan becomes even more essential.”
Hawthorne regarded the Madam Director. “A momentous decision rests on us.”
Blanche-Aster looked away, troubled.
“I think Admiral Sioux knew that when she sent the message.”
“I don’t understand why she didn’t self-destruct the ship,” said Blanche-Aster. “That she didn’t validates my theory that treachery, not some new combat species, lost the beamship.”
“Circumstances may have warranted against self-destruction.”
“You saw the Admiral as she dictated the message. She wore armor and held a las-rifle. Her officers surrounded her and they stood in the command capsule. Unless… do you think these shock troopers had broken the destruction-link?”
“Who can know,” said Hawthorne. “Perhaps not all the officers had agreed to self-destruct.”
“I realize that too much emphasis on training the intellect and not enough on social responsibility has left much of our military weakened. But these officers were our best, the elite. When the moment came that the Bangladesh fell into enemy hands they should have pleaded with the Admiral to destroy it. At the very best, the Highborn will break them in reeducation camps. They gutted sections of the Sun Works Factory. The Highborn will savage them. No. It makes no sense to wish to live through that. Treachery, General, if you had all the facts you would see that treachery overcame the Bangladesh.”
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